Sleepover
by newvagabond
Summary: Knockout/Starscream. Starscream most certainly never, ever stayed over after a late-night frag. It was a rule. But there was no way in the Pit he could sneak back to his chambers at this hour, with red paint scratches and a blown voicebox.


**A/N: Knockout/Starscream **again. **Plug 'n play, tactile**. Starscream most certainly never, ever stayed over after a late-night frag. It was a rule. But there was no way in the Pit he could sneak back to his chambers at this hour, with red paint scratches and a blown voicebox.

* * *

It was late. Or, very early. Data was reconciled, logs filed, energon stock processing. A spare few Vehicons roamed the halls on patrol, the rest of the Nemesis' crew deep in recharge. Even the usually chaotic drone bunk halls were quiet with the soft humming of sleepy ventilations.

It would be wise for the ship's commander to get some rest as well, but he was currently busy writhing atop Knockout and wearing his own vocalizer out in a delightful exhibition of shameless screaming. On that note, it would probably be more logical for the positions to be reversed, but what an excellent view this was for the medic. Their pelvic plating scraped together brutally, friction sending static rushing even up through their protoforms and fizzling out at claw-tips. Knockout's were currently buried deep into Starscream's slender waist, pinching and tugging at the cabling there, some thick lines that were likely a conduit straight to the spark chamber and sure to send tingles all the way down to pedes and back up again.

The Seeker arched, straining their interface cables between them almost painfully. Knockout ground his denta together, ventilating deeply, trying not to overload right then._ Frag_. The commander must've had a really bad week or something if he was this vehement in the berth. The red 'con thought with peripheral despair that he would have a hell of a lot of paint transfers and dents to fix when they were done. He wasn't so sure Breakdown would want to help this time.

He was brought out of that thought when Starscream scratched hard against his vehicle-mode lights and deliberately slammed his hips down with an ill-boding _clang_ that made Knockout groan mostly in pain. Yep. That'd leave a mark for sure. He wasn't going to let the aerial get away with that one, oh-ho no.

With a strong push of pleasure (spiced with annoyance at the denting) through their link, Knockout brought Starscream down by a shoulder and practically bit his faceplate, dentals clashing unforgivingly.

The commander was at first startled but gave in to a shudder as the feedback hit him hard and his wings bowed curiously. That was usually something that happened when the jet was startled or scared, and yet as an agonizing ball of ecstasy atop of him, his wings had turned down and were spasming noisily in little_ vrr-vrrs._

Scrap, it was past the point of no return for the silver Seeker now, so Knockout attacked a neck cable with teeth and thrusted up vengefully, dragging the pleasurable frequency out forcefully and sending it back into Starscream's port twofold. The resulting overload was so powerful that Starscream seized up in a shriek and even through the roaring of electricity and fans and engines, Knockout heard the aerial's vocalizer give out with an unpleasant snap, crackle and _pop._

Knockout's mouth hung agape in half-shock half-holyprimusinthenameofthealls parkthatwasthehottestthingIh aveeverseen. The medic only had a moment of this before the residuals made his own overload crash into him and he continued rolling up against plating, spark oscillating in his chest.

Starscream remained atop him, optics offlined from the surge, sparks leaping from his throat, smoke rising and dissipating with each husky ex-ventilation. His wings struggled to upright themselves as he stiffly shifted, threatening to collapse on top of Knockout. Oh, no. He had enough scratches to his finish for one late-night frag, thank you very much.

The medic swiftly unplugged them from each other and with servos on waist, guided his playmate off of him where the jet inelegantly flopped face-down onto the berth. Oops. Guess he'd surged out completely. A minute or so and he should be back online.

Despite no one being around to see it, Knockout's faceplate lit up in a preening grin at his good work. Sprawled like that with servos flat above his helm, out cold, the Seeker looked well-used. Of course Knockout would be proud. With a chuckle the red-framed grounder rose up and searched a shelf for cubes. Breakdown must've taken the other one, the slagger. If he needed cubes he could just get some from the Vehicons. Knockout needed both cubes. For... guests. Like this.

The medic had actually assumed they would rendezvous at the commander's chambers, so he was ill-prepared. Only one serving left, too. One serving, one cube. They shared the berth, why not share a drink? Even a little would help, and especially after that he was sure Starscream's tank was running on empty.

Knockout tilted the vial, audials picking up some groaning from the berth and he turned just in time to see his favorite patient stretching. Limbs extended, plating objecting noisily in a few places. Ouch. He walked back over and Starscream sat up a little, looking for all the world like he didn't know where the frag he was. Knockout took a sip and continued watching, some scrapshit attempt at not smirking.

Starscream's optics cycled a few times before he seemed to come out of the haze and a clawed hand clanked over faceplate in a groan that would've sounded pained if it wasn't sooo obviously _shit, I fucked the doctor again._

Relishing one more sip of the blue liquid, Knockout extended the cube to Starscream with that same stupid smirk. "You'd better refuel," he teased, optical ridges rising in amusement when Starscream snatched the cube from his claw and downed it desperately.

"You—_akkhhh_—" Starscream's optics cycled small and he grasped for his throat as an array of sparks danced off of his glossa. Well. Just as Knockout suspected. Blown vocalizer. That had to hurt.

He sat calmly next to his commander with a fake _tsk, tsk, tsk_. "Starscream. Your vocalizer seems to have shorted," he said, moving Starscream's hand out of the way to have a look at the wires underneath his jaw. "My, my. You're older than I remember. I don't know if I'll be able to fix such dama—kidding, kidding, ow!"

Starscream released his grip on the medic's neck with a poorly executed growl that sounded more like a broken toaster being dragged across concrete. He shoved the cube at Knockout demandingly, trying once to reboot his voicebox and say "more" but embarrassing himself at the hiss of grinding static.

Knockout rubbed his neck with an artificially wounded expression. "Sorry, Commander. All outta juice."

The jet bristled again and chucked the cube at the floor in a normal display of his temper, shoving his suitor away to get up wobbly from the berth.

"Ah, you're not leaving, are you?" Knockout said, not moving from the berth which he was just now noticing was stressed from their enthusiastic scraping.

Starscream whipped his helm back in a glower and stamped his foot in frustration, pointing to the empty cube on the floor and then at the door.

Knockout raised an optical ridge. "You're going back to your chambers, aross the ship. At this hour." The rolled his optics up in mock-concern when Starscream stared at him. "Suppose you run into someone? Vocalizer short-circuited, looking like that?"

The grey aerial looked down at himself. Paint was etched into him in pronounced reds, lots of scuffs and scratches, not to mention his pelvic plating which normally jutted down sharply was... well, bent. If that didn't say I just got my processor fragged out, he didn't know what did.

Knockout patted the berth softly, grin wide, and Starscream gave a little white noise sigh. He made his way back, but pointed a claw at the grounder's face and shook his helm.

The medic nuzzled the claw. "Surely you don't expect me to recharge on the floor all alone, do you?"

He got his answer when Starscream all but threw him off. Knockout landed on his aft and wasn't about to argue with the look he was given. He watched while rubbing an aching backstrut as Screamy settled sorely onto the berth, wings turning inward together to allow him more easily lay on his side.

"Fans or no fans?" Knockout called in spite of him, trying himself now to get comfortable on the unyielding floor. No response. Either he was being ignored or Starscream had switched his audials off for some damn quiet.

Neither would surprise the doctor, and he snorted when he heard the telling ventilations of a slumbering mech. That was fast. Well, after an interface like that, he'd be happy to sleep a whole astrocycle.

"Night, Screamy," he vocalized again, loudly.

There was a spit of static from the berth that sounded suspiciously like _die in a fire_.


End file.
